


blood and seawater

by kirkspocks



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic, M/M, Shower Sex, kink: will wearing hannibal's clothes and enjoying it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirkspocks/pseuds/kirkspocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal was asleep, and without the roaring sound of the wind through the open window, Will found the silence and darkness unsettling. He turned the radio on, listened to the low chatter and tinkling music of a late night talk show mix with Hannibal’s gentle, sleeping breathing and the hum of tires. A role reversal, Will thought, remembering the times he was weak and sick and Hannibal had driven him home on cold black nights.</p><p> </p><p>Post-S3 finale, where Hannibal and Will head to Bedelia's house after they pull themselves out of the ocean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood and seawater

**Author's Note:**

> after the finale, i saw a post on tumblr that was like, "what if hannibal and will went to bedelia's house after the finale?" and i was like, "hell yeah, headcanon accepted, i'll write that."
> 
> unfortunately i have no idea where the post is and i have no patience for the logistics of jumping off a damn cliff and into the ocean. it's hannibal, okay, these characters can survive a lot of shit.

Dragging themselves out of the ocean had been difficult—the water was cold and dark and choppy, the shore almost nonexistent. Hannibal had gone mostly limp as his adrenaline subsided and his injuries caught up to him. Will himself was in pain, and hauling a man much heavier than he was no easy task.

After reaching land, the waves still lapping at their feet and crashing against the towering rock, Hannibal nodded in a vague direction. He leaned on Will for support, arm around his shoulders. They walked for nearly ten minutes along the slim coast and up a rocky hill, their legs unstable and trembling, until they reached a beat-up car sitting on an outlook. The location of Hannibal’s second house was so distant, its roads so unused, that no one ever came by to tow the abandoned thing away.

Will found the hidden key, after deciphering Hannibal’s slurred instructions on where it was, buried beside a crumbling concrete parking chock. Will unlocked the car manually, then popped the trunk. Immediately Hannibal sat on the trunk’s edge, growing weaker by the second. He reached for a flashlight inside and handed it to Will, who took it before opening the first-aid kit. It was impressive, packed with much more than just band-aids and gauze.

Hannibal gathered what he needed—antiseptic towels and tools Will couldn’t name—and got to work on his self-surgery. It was messy and quick, and Hannibal was oddly quiet despite his blood-covered fingertips and the fleshy pink of his wounded stomach. It looked ugly beneath the flashlight’s shine.

“Good thing you’re a doctor,” Will said, and cringed at his muffled speech due to the deep cut in his cheek. Hannibal breathed a laugh, stopped himself before it caused him more pain.

Will’s face was next. The stitches were done quickly but expertly, and each time Will winced, Hannibal stroked his free hand along Will’s neck in a soothing motion. When they were done, Hannibal pulled out a pill bottle and handed it to Will.

“You put painkillers in your first-aid kit?” Will asked, reading the label before uncapping the bottle and pouring two pills into Hannibal’s palm.

Hannibal swallowed them dry. “Always be prepared.”

Still giddy on the last of his adrenaline, Will laughed. It quickly turned into a wet cough and sputter, the pain in his cheek searing as if the knife had sliced through him again.

“It must hurt,” Hannibal said. The obvious statement was either a product of Hannibal’s exhaustion or a genuine urge to talk to Will, to comfort him.

“Like a bitch,” Will muttered. “I’d take pills too, but I’m assuming I’ll be the one driving tonight. ”

“The road will most likely be empty.” Hannibal was clearly out of it, then, making such a dangerous suggestion.

Will snorted. “Advising me to take medication and then operate heavy machinery? Very unprofessional, Doctor Lecter.”

Before getting up, Hannibal pulled open a secret compartment on the floor of the trunk, revealing a duffle bag with a lock over the zipper. Filled with clothing and false identification, Will assumed, as he took the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

Will helped Hannibal to his feet, walked him over to the passenger’s side with Hannibal practically draped on him for support. He helped him buckle the seatbelt, smoothed down his still sea-damp hair affectionately, and slowly shut the door.

Once Will was in the car, Hannibal only had to murmur “Bedelia” before Will obediently drove off onto the dark road, lit only by the headlights and the moon. The two of them smelled like blood and seawater. Will let his window down to air the stench out, thinking of Hannibal’s delicate senses and his own churning stomach. When the chill air made Will’s fingertips go numb, he rolled up the window and turned the heat back on.

Hannibal was asleep, and without the roaring sound of the wind through the open window, Will found the silence and darkness unsettling. He turned the radio on, listened to the low chatter and tinkling music of a late night talk show mix with Hannibal’s gentle, sleeping breathing and the hum of tires. A role reversal, Will thought, remembering the times he was weak and sick and Hannibal had driven him home on cold black nights.

* * *

Will ignored the twinge of guilt he felt once they’d taken care of Bedelia. No hurting her just yet—they’d only put her to sleep. It was strange to feel guilt after the rush of pleasure he’d received while killing Dolarhyde. Now that his life was this—whatever this was—Will hoped he’d adopt that excitement for good, that he’d finally acquire a taste for it. But perhaps that hunger only existed in certain situations. Will settled his guilt by talking to Hannibal, though it felt more like he was talking to himself.

“I told her to leave,” Will said, trailing after Hannibal through the house. “Said that meat was back on the menu.”

Hannibal hummed. “Very funny.”

“Yeah? She knew I wasn’t joking.”

“Like I said earlier, Will,” Hannibal said, turning on the bathroom lights, “you worry too much.”

Hannibal tended to their injuries once more, with care and precision this time. He gave Will one big, light blue pill—it wasn’t the same one from the kit, but Will wasn’t suspicious, would now take anything Hannibal gave him. He cupped his hand under the sink, sipped water from his palm, and swallowed it down.

“A different painkiller I had stored in my bag,” Hannibal explained. “It shouldn’t make you dizzy.”

“Are you surprised I didn’t ask before taking it?” Will was a bit pleased that Hannibal had chosen a pill more suited for him. He knew how much Will disliked dizziness and light-headed confusion.

“It’s quite a development.”

They stripped down together out of their damp, salty clothing. Will grimaced at the bits of sand he saw stuck to his thighs and the insides of his pants.

Hannibal sniffed, offended by the smell that made Will himself want to gag earlier. “We’ll be throwing those out. Possibly burn them.”

With a laugh, Will kicked at their pile of dirty clothes and watched them glide across the marble floor.

“Wouldn’t burning them make ‘em smell worse? Besides,” Will said, “I don’t have any spare clothes. And I won’t fit into any of yours.”

“My trousers, no. But you can certainly wear one of my sweaters and my underwear for the time being.”

Will laughed again, a small embarrassed noise. “Oh, I’m sure you planned that.”

He turned to inspect his injuries in the mirror, looked at the ugly cut tearing into his cheek, the dried blood that had sunk into his skin and needed to be scrubbed clean. The way Hannibal had stitched him up made Will’s skin feel tight. It’d make for an interesting scar—one that couldn’t be hidden beneath unkempt hair. He’d been changed. Will hoped that he wouldn’t seem so delicate anymore.

“I didn’t,” Hannibal said, eyes bright with amusement. “But the sight will be enjoyable nonetheless. If you want, there’s a washing machine and dryer for you to use.”

The sudden sound of rushing water made Will shudder, an image of plummeting into the dark ocean forcing itself into his mind, and he whipped his head away from the mirror. His irrational panic settled when he saw it was only the shower. Hannibal stood naked—skin still darkened in some places with the spill of blood—testing the running water, letting it rush over his fingers.

“Come,” he said, and stepped into the shower. It was spacious and extravagant. The shower-head hung from the ceiling, giving the effect of rain during a downpour, and it was encased in glass to show off its dark stone walls.

Will followed and shut the glass door behind them. Hannibal was already underneath the spray, standing with his eyes closed. Naked and cold, Will leaned against him, pressed up close so that they could share the flood of warm water.

Hannibal embraced Will, pulled his head to his shoulder and kissed his temple. Exhaustion and the incoming effect of painkillers made Will feel like he might fall asleep standing up, just resting on Hannibal, who’d already gotten his sleep in the car.

Noticing Will’s weakness, Hannibal took it upon himself to lather Will’s body with soap, scrubbing away at the last of the blood. The soap was strongly jasmine scented, and the room was soon flushed out of the pungent smell of drying seawater. Even beneath the water and steam, goosebumps raised along Will’s skin as Hannibal’s hands glided over him.

Will stepped back to rinse the soap away, and then watched without shame as Hannibal bathed. When he was done he took Will into his arms again, placed a thumb over the stitches on Will’s cheek, so light Will could hardly feel it.

“A shame that he did this,” Hannibal said. “I would’ve preferred to be the only one to mark you.”

Hannibal pressed his lips to the scar on Will’s forehead, kissing along the raised line. A content sigh left Will’s mouth, heat coiling deep in his stomach at the thought of Hannibal’s desire to claim him.

The chaste kisses to Will’s forehead somehow turned to hungry, wet kisses between their open mouths, tasting warm and somewhat metallic. Hannibal bit gently at Will’s bottom lip—Will felt a horrible thrill, knowing Hannibal’s last encounter with that same body part—and brought his hands to Will’s hips.

One hand reached between Will’s thighs to cup his balls, hold them gently in a sort of admiration. Hannibal soon abandoned them to play with Will’s stiffening cock, stroked him lightly and dragged his thumb over the slit, then made a tight fist for Will to push into and gave him a look that said, “Go ahead.” Will groaned at the sensation of his tip bumping against Hannibal’s hand before sliding inside.

He tried to return the favor, shaking hands grasping outwards, but Hannibal tutted, told him to leave it for now so that he would not upset his wound.

Reluctantly, Will listened, and moved his hands to rest on Hannibal’s shoulders. Hannibal’s kept his hand still so that Will could thrust into it at whatever pace he pleased, and each push into Hannibal’s the warm, soft hole Hannibal made for him made Will’s legs grow weak, drove him closer to the edge.

The other hand on Will’s hip slowly moved to squeeze his ass, then slid between his cheeks, spreading them. Hannibal pressed the pad of his finger against Will's hole as if he were about to slip inside, only to retreat and repeat the process again.

Will moaned, his noises breathy and frantic, as he rocked himself into Hannibal’s grip, fucking his hand while a finger circled over his opening in empty promise. Hearing Will’s noises become shorter and higher-pitched indicated to Hannibal that he was close, and he took to stroking Will’s cock instead. And despite Will’s exhaustion, the way Hannibal teased his hole and twisted his grip over the head of his cock with each tight, quick stroke made Will beg for it.

“Want it,” Will mumbled into Hannibal’s shoulder. “Please.”

Hannibal didn’t respond, only smiled as he continued to rub at Will’s pliant opening. Pleasure thrummed throughout Will’s body, and he felt himself lose his head to it, instinctively thrusting in rhythm with Hannibal’s strokes until he came with a gasp. He released himself over Hannibal’s fist, some of it landing onto his stomach as well. The mess washed off easily in the shower.

Will stood in a tired daze, having momentarily forgotten where they were, lost in Hannibal’s protective embrace.

The water shut off and left Will chilled and dripping until Hannibal turned to him, holding with towels from the rack. Will wrapped himself up and watched as Hannibal efficiently dried off and re-dressed in fresh clothing.

“The extra sweater and briefs are still in the duffle bag,” Hannibal reminded. He buttoned up his shirt. “The laundry room is right by the kitchen.”

Will nodded. A dark part of him was glad that Bedelia was knocked out so that she wouldn’t have a chance to see him parade around in Hannibal’s clothes, looking like a college student the morning after.

Both men exited the bathroom, Hannibal fully dressed and Will, bundled up in the oversized towel, padding along behind him.

Will dug through the duffle bag he’d placed on Bedelia’s coffee table. He pulled out a dark grey sweater, the material something soft and undoubtedly expensive. The underwear was the same. As he dressed in the middle of the living room, Will considered how their evening so far was strangely domestic and comfortably disorganized, unlike the evenings Hannibal usually planned out for them. Will felt a calm settling inside him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Dressed in Hannibal’s roomy sweater and boxer-briefs, Will made his way through the house and to the laundry room. Hannibal returned to Will’s side while he was shoving his pants into the washing machine.

“I look forwards to taking you shopping,” Hannibal said.

Will briefly studied the machine’s buttons before pressing them, listened for the gentle thunk as it began the wash cycle. “Better be careful with your budget or they’ll track us down.”

Hannibal gave Will a small smile, his eyes drifting across Will’s body—a picture of sleepy comfort, freshly showered and in Hannibal’s clothes. They left the small laundry room and stopped in the living room, where Will sat down, his legs still wobbling from both orgasm and exhaustion. Hannibal busied himself with lighting every candle he could find in the room, and Will relaxed into his chair as he inhaled the soothing scent of candle smoke and wax.

“Anything else on your agenda for tonight?” Will asked, unused to the quiet and calm that had so suddenly entered their lives.

Hannibal blew out a match and set it aside, then hummed in thought. “Perhaps. Are you hungry?”

**Author's Note:**

> do i only write crying and bathing kink? yes
> 
> will i continue this? maybe. school is a bitch.
> 
> catch me @ kirkspocks.tumblr.com


End file.
